A Cat May Look at a King
by Ms. Chaos
Summary: Sherlock and John take in a new flatmate. A small, furry feline type of flatmate. Reviews are welcomed!


**Author's Notes: **_I don't know what to say about this fic other than the inspiration for this was a comment my father made(who had never seen the show)about my niece's cat on how it loves to investigate everything in the house like he was Sherlock Holmes by sniffing at it. And thus came about this fic._

_Sherlock Holmes and John Watson do not belong to me, obviously. They belong to Sir Arthur Conan Doyle and at the moment, Mark Gatiss and Steven Moffat. I'm just playing in their sandbox. ;)_

* * *

Green eyes stared unrelentlessly back at blue grey ones. Neither pair of orbs dared to blink for blinking first showed submission. Submission showed weakness and Mr. Sherlock Holmes would be damned if he was going to show any sign of weakness especially in his own house.

Those sharp green eyes looked back with such intensity that for one fleeting second, a thought passed through Sherlock's mind that those eyes could look into his soul and read every secret and desire.

Only for a second. He had enough.

Growling in frustration, he raised his fist and banged it hard against his desk.

"For God's sake!"

The green eyes widen in fear at the sudden outburst.

"What the hell are you staring at?"

He knew that he would get no answer.

The green eyes stared at him for a moment as if waiting for another outburst and then looked away. Sherlock sighed loudly.

Cats are such unnerving creatures.

They're unpredictable and follow their own set of rules. Unlike dogs who demand attention and obey orders without a second thought in favor for a treat. Cats on the other hand would rather sit and stare at you with a look on their faces that read "Piss off, you idiot." than to obey a command of "Come here." They're also unbelievably quiet, quick, and predatory. Turn your back for one second and they're gone the next, disappearing until you stumble upon them with your feet.

There's also the staring. That had been too much for Sherlock to handle. He smirked when he watched the cat, Remus was his ridiculous name, flinch when he yelled. He was glad that the cat gave some sort of reaction after 10 minutes of siting still as a statue during their staring contest. It's head was cocked slightly to the side as if it was studying Sherlock. My God. Is this what people felt whenever he studied people with such scrutiny?

He blamed John for this.

John had insisted on taking the cat after looking into an unusual case of the deaths of a woman and her 9 year old daughter who were found dead in their beds in their home. He learned that there was no one in the victim's family who can take care of it. He asked Lestrade who had declined because of allergies. Sally Donovan said she was more of a dog person and Anderson simply said no. Mrs. Hudson was away visiting family so John called Molly but quickly learned that she already had a cat and couldn't afford to take on another one.

John's eyes lit up when another person came to mind as he took out his phone.

"No."

"Oh, come on Sherlock. It's just for one night. Sarah said she has a friend who's cat had recently died and-"

"I don't care. And since when did you become a pet lover?"

"Well, I had a dog once when I was a kid," said John.

"Of course you did." Sherlock muttered.

"Did you ever had a pet growing up?"

Sherlock flashed him a look of _"Oh, please."__  
_

"Right. I forgot who I was asking. Look, it's just for one night. Sarah's friend will come by tomorrow to pick it up."

"I don't understand why you care about this cat. We're not some sort of animal rescue." Sherlock said as he walked away.

John stood on the spot.

"She named him after her favorite Harry Potter character." John said after a moment.

Sherlock turned and gave John a confused look. "What?"

"The little girl. She named the cat after her favorite Hogwarts professor. Remus J. Lupin."

Sherlock continued to look confused.

"You don't know what I'm talking about, do you?"

"No." Sherlock answered quickly.

"The little girl, whose murder we're investigating, was a Harry Potter fan. You've seen the books in her room. She loved this cat so much that she named it after a Hogwarts professor, not a main character. She had pictures and drawings of this cat. It was her best friend."

Sherlok stood silent.

"She was 9 years old, Sherlock. The least we can do while we're trying to find out who killed her and her mum is to make sure that this little girl's prized possession will be taken care of."

Sherlock stared at John. He recognized that stubborn, determined look on John's face anywhere. He knew he had no choice but to give in. With a groan and a roll of his eyes, he agreed.

"Oh, alright. Just for one night then it's gone by tomorrow."

John smiled in satisfaction.

"And whatever mess it makes-"

"As oppose to the mess that already occupys the flat?" John cut in. "Don't worry. Cats are very clean animals.

"Whatever mess it makes, you're cleaning it." Sherlock said as he hailed a taxi. John merely nodded in agreement.

"And keep it away from my skull."

So, there he sat, Remus the cat, perched next to Sherlock's skull on the mantle above the fireplace, studying Sherlock as if he was trying to decide what to make of him.

"Don't touch my skull." Sherlock warned. Remus simply yawned. His small mouth going wide, exposing his sharp white teeth. Sherlock sighed and focused his attention back to the case.

A woman and her daughter both found dead in their beds. No traces of any gas leak or poisoning. The mother was obviously placed in bed judging by her damped hair and unfinished nail varnish on the woman's feet. There was a small, singular cut across the throat. A scapel according to John, right in the area of the jugular vein. But no blood anywhere in the home. Anderson suggested a murder-suicide given the anti-depressants in the bathroom medicine cabinet belonging to the woman. Sherlock suggested to Anderson that he should do the world a favor and stop talking during investigations.

The daughter was another mystery. No distinguishing marks on her body. She laid peacefully in her bed on her fluffy pillows as if she was asleep.

Sherlock sighed, closing the laptop with a snap and recoiled away from his desk at the sudden appearance of Remus. The cat sat crouched from behind the computer. He stared back with those wide green eyes as if he was just as surprised of Sherlock being there in front of him. Sherlock looked at the cat with disdain.

"Don't get too comfortable. You're leaving tomorrow."

Remus responded with a gentle purr as if it was an inquiry.

Remus was a tabby from what Sherlock could deduce but it was mostly covered in white fur with patches of dark tabby on it's head, back legs, a small patch on his back and on it's bushy tail that looked like a raccoon's. He licked his pink nose and began to uncurl from its crouch. Sherlock watched in shock and surprise as Remus walked over his laptop and settled himself onto his lap. He raised his hands up as though he didn't want to be contaminated by the cat. It immediately began to purr and looked up at Sherlock with a sleepy look and meowed softly.

Sherlock looked away and groaned.

"Right."

He brought his hands down hesitantly to the cat, ready to lift him up. Remus purred in ernest.

"Where is John?" he muttered. "He's taking his bloody time."

John had left only after arriving home a few minutes, realizing that they didn't have any food for the cat. He was reluctant of leaving it alone with Sherlock. Afraid that he would come back and would find the cat already on the kitchen table dissected.

Sherlock brought his hand down on the back of Remus' neck ready to lift him up when the realization came to him. His mind brought all the pieces of the case together.

There was one thing that John didn't expect to find when came home from the grocery store with a bag full of cat food. He was happy to find that the cat was not on the kitchen table cut open, thank God. He just didn't expect the cat to be curled up on Sherlock's lap, purring contently as Sherlock stroke its back, looking an awfully like some sort of James Bond villain.

"I solved the case." Sherlock announced as he jumped up from his chair, letting Remus fall from his lap onto its feet. It quickly rushed out of the room. "I know who killed the woman and her daughter. Grab the cat. We're going to a pet hospital. " he said, reaching for his coat and walked right past John and out the door.

John fumbled with the grocery bag, placing it on the table and trying to grab the cat who had decided to hide in Sherlock's room. The fall from Sherlock's lap had him certainly spooked.

The cat was the only witness to the deaths of Julia and little Katie Reynolds. The proverbial finger, in this case the microchip ID of the owner planted in the back of the Remus' neck, pointed to a Mr. Karl Roberts. A very shy, veterinary assistant at a near by animal clinic. Mr. Roberts became infatuated with Mrs. Reynolds. He would watch her everyday as she took her daughter to school. He left his cat, formerly known as Bernie, on the doorstep of Mrs. Reynolds' home. Thinking that Bernie(or Remus) was a stray, Mrs. Reynolds and little Katie adopted him and brought the cat to the near by animal clinic for a check up. Mr. Roberts used every excuse and opportunity to bring the woman into the clinic in order to speak to her and ask her out on a date. Mrs. Reynolds had politely declined several times and in response, Mr. Roberts broke into their home and murdered them. He caught Mrs. Reynolds unware in her bedroom one night as she was giving herself a pedicure. He cut her throat in the shower and washed away the blood and evidence. Little Katie was asleep in bed and with the help of an extra pillow, she never woke up again.

"How did you know that the cat would have a microchip implanted?" John asked, carrying the cat in his arms as he and Sherlock walked out of the pet clinic.

"The cat told me." was Sherlock's answer.

"What? The cat told you?"

"Mrs. Reynolds and her daughter thought the cat was stray. Stray cats are dirty, full of fleas and unkempt fur. Bernie or should I say Remus, here has been groomed, teeth cleaned from proper nutrition, and had traces of flea ointment on the back of its neck. Also, the pads of its feet are smooth which suggest an indoor cat, never been outside, and its claws are filed down. It had been well looked after. Someone would want to keep an eye on that cat in case it ever got lost. "

"How do you know that the woman and her daughter weren't the ones who did all that?"

"They barely had the cat in their home. They had been using regular cereal bowls for food and water and there was a receipt on the kitchen table for a litter box that was bought and recent scratches on their furniture where the cat was using it as a scratch post. No other pet toys. They were slowly adjusting to having a cat in their home."

"Well, I guess we should adjust having this little guy staying over with us for a bit." John said as he scratched Remus' ear. "Sarah texted me earlier. She said her friend won't be back tomorrow from holiday. Her flight's been delayed due to the weahter. Instead she'll be back in about a week. "

"That's fine," came the clipped response from Sherlock.

"It's fine?" John asked in disbelief.

"Yes, it's fine."

"You don't have a problem with that?"

"No. Why would I?"

"Well, you were adamant earlier of not having the cat over for a night in the first place. Why the sudden change of heart?"

"It's just a cat. Not a bloody tiger. What damage can it do in a week?" Sherlock said. John shook his head and let out a quiet chuckle.

"What?"

"Nothing." John said, smiling. "We need to pick up some more cat food on the way."

The next few days were going to be interesting.

* * *

Sherlock may had his talent in the science of deduction, the only consulting detective in the world who notices the littlest things on people and deduce their lives but that doesn't mean that John wasn't the only one who also didn't noticed things.

John stopped dead in his tracks as soon as he walked in from upstairs at the scene in front of him. Sherlock was stretched out on the sofa and curled up quite comfortably on his chest was Remus. One paw stretched out and rested near Sherlock's chin. Both had their eyes shut.

John took a moment to study the scene before him with a smile on his face. It was strange to see such an unusual sight of Sherlock's softer side towards a living being. As much as he tried to hide it.

Knowing that he will probably never see this display of affection, John pulled out his phone and took a picture. At the sound of the camera phone, the cat slowly opened one green eye and stared at John for a moment. Uninterested that it was only John, the cat went back to sleep, purring loudly.

"You better delete that." Sherlock's deep voice muttered, opening one eye just enough to see John through his lashes.

John smiled at the resemblance to the cat. "Why? You worried that this will show that you actually have a heart?" he went into the kitchen and started to make tea.

"I was thinking, going through my mind palace when he jumped on my chest and fell asleep. I didn't bother to push him off." Sherlock mumbled, one hand absently stroking the cat's back.

"You know, it's alright for you to admit that you like the cat. There's nothing wrong of wanting a pet."

"Except for the piss and the scratches and the constant shedding."

"Well, we're living together and we seem to do alright."

Silence.

"Sherlock?" John called out. He turned and looked into the living room. Sherlock had his eyes closed again. Remus continued to sleep and purr.

John laughed softly. He sat down with his tea in the kitchen and picked up a newspaper.

* * *

Sherlock paced back and forth like a madman in the living room, raising his hands dramatically in the air at the frustration of how unbelievably bored he was. His blue dressing gown swished around him like a magician's cloak as he practically bounced back and forth.

Remus sat huddled on the desk, watching Sherlock in fascination with wide eyes as if he wasn't sure if the tall human was going to unexpectedly attack or make some sort of pounce. The primal instinct of running and chasing was stirring up inside as he watched the human stride across the room.

John merely sat quietly at his chair with his laptop, ignoring the spectacle, one man show that was happening right in front of him. He knew that Sherlock's tantrum would soon run out of steam. He didn't bother to look up as Sherlock stormed through the flat, picking up stacks of paper only to let it fall from his hands into a puddle of scattered sheets on the floor, adding to the mess of the cluttered filled flat.

_"I'm not going to clean that up."_ John thought to himself. He then heard Sherlock go into the kitchen, the glass and silverware clinking and clanking loudly until a sharp crash that sounded like a cup shattering onto the floor.

_"Not cleaning that up either."_ John saw from the corner of his eye the cat jumping off from the desk silently and slowly made his way towards the kitchen with trepidation. He was intrigued by the crazed actions of the tall human.

Sherlock suddenly came storming out, groaning loudly in irritation, causing the cat to turn heel and run as fast as he can out of the living room and towards Sherlock's open bedroom door.

"Is there anything? Anything at all?" Sherlock demanded.

"I told you there's nothing. Not since you asked me 5 minutes ago."

"There's always something. There has to be." Sherlock practically whined.

Remus slowly walked back into the living room, watching Sherlock with uncertanity.

"Why don't you play with the cat if you're bored?"

"You play with the cat." Sherlock fired back somewhat childishly. He started to pace again, making his way towards the direction where the cat stood. Remus sensing the danger immediately ran out again, away from Sherlock, his little feet galloping on the hard wood floor into the kitchen.

Sherlock stopped and stared at the cat. Remus stared back anticipating Sherlock's next move with his back slightly arched. Sherlock took step forward, Remus took one step back with a questioning purr.

"What is he doing?" Sherlock wondered.

John looked up from his computer and saw the stand off between Sherlock and Remus.

"I think he's playing with you."

"No, he's not. He's acting as if I'm going to attack him, like he's afraid of me."

"Nah, look at him. I think he wants you to chase him. If he was afraid of you, he would have hissed and wouldn't let you go near him let alone sleep and perch on your lap like before."

Sherlock and Remus stared each other down, waiting for the other to make the next move. Sherlock took another step forward and this was apparently too much for Remus for he suddenly darted out the kitchen, run into the living room, over the couch turning and headed for straight into Sherlock's bedroom again.

Sherlock sat down in his chair with almost a look of confusion on his face as Remus continued to run around the flat unware or probably didn't care that there was no one chasing him. He ran as fast as he could, dodging the chairs and tables in the living room and kitchen left and right as if he was starring in his own action movie. In his mind, he was probably being chased by a pack of hungry, wild dogs hell bent on stopping Remus from whatever mission he was on. Probably had a theme song playing in his mind as he ran, too.

"Weird cat." John heard Sherlock say. John let out a chuckle.

Remus continued to run around, stopping once in a while to play with something on the ground that wasn't even there, giving it a few swipes with his paw and jumping wildly until once again, he took off.

He stopped again near John, sitting up with his paws raised in the air. He barely hit at John's leg as if he wasn't sure if he should swat that leg before quickly jerking his whole body around and started running again.

Sherlock's head followed the cat wherever direction it went with fascination.

Tantrum over.

* * *

He could feel something heavy sitting on his chest. A certain amount of pressure that kept pushing down harder and harder making it difficult for him to breathe. A loud, grumbling roared in his ears. He swat his hands feebly at the annoying noise. He then felt something wet and scratchy like sandpaper drag against his fingers. He jerked his hand back and opened his eyes, blinking owlishly against the darkness of his room. Wide, green eyes stared back at John's dark blue ones. Remus had woken him up.

He turned and looked at his bedside clock and groaned. It was five in the morning and he can hear Sherlock rummaging downstairs in the kitchen. The cat looked at him expectantly, waiting for him to wake up. John had soon learned that whenever the cat sat on his chest or licked his hands, it usually meant that he was waiting to be fed.

"Alright." he muttered, gently pushing Remus off. "I'm up. Let's get your breakfast." he threw the covers off of him and headed downstairs.

He found Sherlock hunched over a microscope as he walked into the kitchen, securing his dressing robe around him. He muttered a tired "Good morning" to which Sherlock didn't answer to and went straight for the cupboard, grabbing the tin of cat food.

The table was messier than it was last night. It seems that Sherlock had been busy with his experiments this morning. Remus jumped on top of the table and began to sniff around, investigating the new objects that Sherlock had brought out.

"How long have you been up?" John asked Sherlock, opening up the tin can of cat food.

"I never went to bed." Sherlock answered, not bothering to look up. He quickly jotted down some notes.

"Well, you could've fed the cat since you were up. " John's nose suddenly wrinkled up in disgust. "What is that smell?"

"I had to defrost a tongue in the microwave. I opened a window, it'll clear out in a few mintues."

"No, that's not... " John followed the trail of the smell and realized that it was. "Oh, for God's sake... Sherlock. You could've at least cleaned this up."

"I'm busy." Sherlock replied shortly. Remus now sat next to Sherlock sniffing at his microscope.

"You couldn't stop for five minutes to clean up the cat shit two feet away from you in the kitchen?" He grabbed a sheet of paper towel.

"No, I couldn't."

"It's completely unsanitary." John said firmly, throwing the mess away.

"It's not like we eat in here, anyway. Why are you getting upset?" Sherlock finally looked up from his microscope at John. "You're the one who wanted the cat here in the first place."

"Yes, but it's called common courtesy to see a mess and clean it up especially since it's your own flat and you've been here the entire night anyway!"

"Then either get rid of the cat or get a litter box and stop badgering me about the mess it makes!" Sherlock yelled back.

John huffed in annoyance and went back straight upstairs to his bedroom, hoping to get a few more minutes of sleep. It was too damn early to fight. Just as he settled in under his covers, Remus suddenly jumped up and sat next to him. The cat purred gently as he looked at John with petinence. John sighed and stracthed behind Remus' ear causing him to lean into the touch. He turned his small head and licked John's hand gently as if to say, "Thank you for breakfast." Well, it seemed that there was at least one flatmate who appreciated John.

Soon after, both were fast asleep.

A few hours later, John was surprised to see a new litter box, already filled up with cat litter, sitting in the corner of the kitchen floor.

* * *

There was some similarities between Sherlock and the cat that John couldn't help but noticed. Their silence and the way they studied everything, analyzing a problem for a solution. The sharp keen eyes. The long sinewy body and the look that passes through their faces at people who were clearly stupid in their minds. It was a little eerie how much Sherlock had the same personality of a cat John mused.

Now and then, John would observe how calm Sherlock would get whenever the cat sat on his lap. His long fingers would caress the white fur on Remus' back as the cat would slowly closed his eyes in relaxation. Sherlock is usually so hyper and on edge with the lack of cases to work on. He would moan and complain how bored he was and drive John and Mrs. Hudson absolutely crazy at his petulance.

John would also pretend that sometimes he didn't hear Sherlock's deep chuckle coming from his bedroom, entertained by whatever antics Remus was getting into or the way he would muttered as he worked on a case with the cat sitting on the table in front him looking as if they're both were having a conversation.

It was obvious to John that Sherlock had gotten close to Remus and a part of him felt regret of wanting to take in the tabby but he didn't really expect Sherlock who had claimed numberous of times to seperate himself from any emotional attachment or sentiment to anything, would actually bond with the cat. Now, this little creature who shares many of Sherlock's characteristics, came into their lives for a short while was going to be leaving soon. John wondered how Sherlock would react. Would he change his mind and let the cat stay or would he let him go, acting as if it didn't made any difference to him?

In two days time, John would find out.

* * *

Remus sat on the window still, looking out at the people on the street passing by. His ears were perked up and his head would now and then would be following something of interest outside.

Sherlock was at his stand, writing notes on his music sheet. He was more quiet than usual. He barely touched his breakfast that morning and hardly spoken a word to John. Lestrade had sent over a case file and Sherlock quickly deduce it with a short response of who was responsible and dismissed it.

Silently, he picked up his violin and began playing a somber type of tone. John had a feeling for the reason of this sulleness that radiated from Sherlock. Sarah's friend, Abby was coming by to pick up the cat. The day has come.

The doorbell ringing downstairs broke through Sherlock's bleak music pausing his playing for a second. John saw the way Sherlock tensed up, holding the violin bow in mid-playing. Sherlock continued on as if he didn't hear anything.

John cleared his throat as he rose from his chair. "I'll get it."

Sherlock made no acknowledgment if he heard John. He stared ahead at the window, letting his fingers take control of his violin playing and resonant whatever he was feeling at the moment.

He heard the quiet chatter between John and Abby as they ascended the staircase. He finished with a slow solemn note, dragging the bow softly down.

"Shelock." he heard John's voice. Time to face the music as they say. He placed his violin down on the desk and turned.

"This is Abby. Sarah's friend."

The young smiled timidly. "Hello."

"Pleasure to meet you." Sherlock walked over and held out his hand. "How was Hawaii?"

Abby was slightly taken back. "How did you-?"

"Trust me, don't ask." John interrupted.

"Right" Abby laughed softly, "So, where is, um..."

"Remus." Sherlock offered as he went over to the window to where Remus sat looking with interest at the new vistor.

"We didn't name him. He belong to a little girl. " John explained quickly.

"Oh, yes. Sarah told me. Such a shame. Oh, here he is."

Sherlock handed the cat over to Abby. "He's handsome." said Abby, cradling him to her chest.

Remus lifted his pink nose up to Abby's face and sniffed softly. He immediately began to purr. Sherlock ignored the brief feeling of jealousy that went through him.

"I'll get his litter box and food." John quickly left, leaving Sherlock and Abby alone.

An awkward silence filled the air between them until Abby spoke.

"I heard you playing. It sounded lovely."

"Thank you." Sherlock replied.

"Are you a composer?"

"No."

Abby saw that his attention was on the cat, not her.

More silence. Ookay. Abby shifted her feet nervously. She smiled gratefully when John appeared with Remus' things. She thanked him and made a promise that Remus would be taken care of. Neither of them saw Sherlock walking back to his violin without a word until the first few notes hit the bow.

"Thanks for taking him in." John said sincerely. "It really means a lot."

"It's no problem. I'm glad that you asked Sarah to call me otherwise this little guy would be in a shelter."

John was about to reply when a horrible noise suddenly interrupted them causing him and Abby to jump and gasp in fright.

Sherlock's violin had made a loud, screeching sound. He started playing vigorously, almost angrily. His back was towards them. John took it as a sign from Sherlock to shut up and get her out.

"Thank you once again." John said to a bewildered Abby and ushered her out of the flat. He closed the door behind him. John said nothing as he watched Sherlock continue to play, the music now more softer and calmer. He settled himself back in his chair and picked up a newspaper. Neither of them spoke while John read and Sherlock played, occasionally stopping to make a few notes on his music sheet.

There was so many things John wanted to say to Sherlock as his played his violin. Some words of comfort or reassurence of Remus' well being under the care of Sarah's friend. But he knew that Sherlock would hear none of it. Sherlock was not one to dwell on such trivial things. They're fleeting, unimportant moments that would be forgotten. It didn't teach him anything so it would be erased from his mind because it didn't serve any purpose.

Still, John couldn't help but say something that could at least perk up his friend's mood. He spoke without looking up from his newspaper.

"We could always get another cat."

"No." Sherlock said, putting down his violin. "We don't have to."

John didn't respond. He knew what Sherlock meant. It wouldn't be the same.

Sherlock's cell phone pinged in his pocket. He brought it out and read it quickly.

"It's Lestrade. He's got a case for us." Sherlock declared with a smile, already grabbing his coat. "We're to meet him at Kensington Gardens. Apparently, they found a body, burnt to a crisp sitting on a bench at the Round pond."

John stood up and grabbed his coat at once and followed Sherlock out the door.

Looking back, John remembered what Sherlock had mentioned of how could a single domestic house cat cause damage in a week. Well, apparently, the cat did do more damage than Sherlcok could ever imagine while staying at 221b Baker Street. It soften his heart and left it broken.

The End.

* * *

_I think I just turned my niece's cat into a Mary Sue! lol. I don't even know what to call this fic and I'm not even sure if the characters are in canon but this is what my brain came up with thanks to my dad. I guess this would be under... silly? And sad. __It's silly-sad. ;)_

_ I hoped you enjoyed it. Thanks for reading! :D_


End file.
